Oh My Words
My words
My artm
You have no right
to throw it out.
You can call it trash
I don’t mind.
Just know this
It is mine.
Here’s the cliche
One “woman’s trash is …
My trash is My trash
It’s my treasure.
I found my treasures in the
Trash
The day before the pick up.
I lifted the lid
to throw something out.
And found them dumped
Like garbage.
My pages and pages of writing.
Oh my words
My many words
Short stories
Start of a memoir
Mostly poetry.
And other things
(Important things to my art
My self built clay sculpture pedestal -dissapeared.
The sculpture too clay and scaffold
-dissapeared
My tub of clay and slip
-dissapearred
My sun canopy for sunny day
Outdoor work
-dissapeared
My life’s work.
The men I live with co-conspiritist
In collusion against me.
When I was away
I came back and found
I almost disappeared
They didn’t go through my stuff
Piece by piece
Bit by bit.
Evaluate and judge
They didn’t cull the pieces
The wheat from the chaf
They took
Black plastic lawn bags
And shoveled
My life
Into its slack-jawed mouth,
With no distinction
for prime cut or gristle.
I bled
I cried from the pain.
Flesh chewed from my bones
My babies ripped from my womb.
My tongue severed and shoved down my throat
I found some before they were
Lost forever
Hauled to a place of no return.
I rescued them.
Repaired and healed them.
The flesh bears scars still but
Some of those babies were born.
The papers filled with my words.
My WORDS.
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